


Heart to Heart

by reeby10



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cheek Kisses, Comfort Food, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Slash, References to past minor character death, a little bit of Bucky crying in his sleep, a little gospel music bc I have headcanons about Sam's family apparently, i guess, it gets a little sad for a minute but it's ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 20:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16563002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeby10/pseuds/reeby10
Summary: “I was having a nightmare,” Bucky said. Which really wasn’t something that Sam had expected him to say even if it was what he’d expected was going on. “Sorry I woke you.”





	Heart to Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rivulet027](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivulet027/gifts).



> **ETA:** Made some minor changes 4/18/19.

Sam wasn’t sure what made him go to Bucky’s room. It wasn’t like he’d yelled or made some other loud noise. If he made any noise at all, it was too quiet for Sam to hear in his own room down the hall. But for some reason, he’d woken up and known something was wrong.

Now he was standing in the doorway of Bucky’s room, wondering if he should go in. He pushed the door open a few inches, just enough to see inside. He could see Bucky laying on his bed, back to the door, blankets pulled up around his shoulders. He looked fine as far as Sam could see.

Except there was still something niggling at the back of his mind. He looked closer and then he could see it. Bucky was shaking, just the smallest of shivers wracked his body, almost imperceptible in the dim light of the room.

Sam thought, strange as it sounded even in his own head, that Bucky might be crying.

“Bucky?” Sam called, voice soft. He waited a second, then tried again a little louder. “Bucky?”

Almost immediately, Bucky sat upright in bed, tension obvious in every line of his body. He had a knife in one hand that he’d probably been keeping under his pillow. Sam had one there too.

They both stayed frozen there for several long moments, watching each other in silence. Sam couldn’t quite make out Bucky’s face with his back to the little light coming in through the window, so it was hard to tell if he was even awake. Bucky’s breathing, loud in the small room, seemed to indicate he was.

“Uh, you ok there, Bucky?” Sam tried eventually.

He wasn’t sure if he should be worried about protecting himself since Bucky hadn’t put the knife down yet, but it was sometime after three in the morning and he really didn’t have the energy to worry much. He’d rather make sure Bucky was fine so he could go back to bed, and it wasn’t like Bucky wouldn’t be able to kill him barehanded anyway if that was really what he wanted to do.

“Yes,” Bucky replied, voice a little rough. Slowly, he dropped his raised hand and slid the knife back under his pillow. “What are you doing in my room?”

“ _Technically_ I’m not… You know what? Never mind.” Sam rubbed at the back of his head, feeling a little self conscious. He didn’t really have a reason other than something had felt off. And he wasn’t sure how well that would go over. “I thought I heard a noise, wanted to check it out.”

Bucky got up from the bed, blanket falling away to reveal he was only wearing a pair of boxers and an extremely thin tank that really left nothing to the imagination. If it wasn’t ass o’clock in the morning, Sam thought he might have been more interested in the view. Even if he still felt a little like a predator was stalking toward him.

“I was having a nightmare,” Bucky said. Which really wasn’t something that Sam had expected him to _say_ even if it was what he’d expected was going on. “Sorry I woke you.”

Sam shook his head. He’d been woken by far worse nightmares than that in his time. “Don’t worry about it, man.” He paused, considering, then decided that if he’d gone this far, might as well go a little further. “I was going to make some tea. You want some?”

Bucky shrugged, which Sam took as agreement. He turned and headed for the kitchen, hoping Steve had remembered to do the grocery run before he left on his latest mission. They’d been almost out the last time he looked.

Thankfully, it looked like Steve had done the shopping, and they were full up on tea. Sam put a pot of water on to boil and pulled out a couple of mugs while Bucky slid almost silently into one of the seats at the island bar. It was a little weird to have the former Winter Soldier watching him intently as he went about making them both chamomile tea, but he figured it wasn’t the weirdest thing in his life right now. Somehow.

They were both silent as the tea brewed, Bucky’s gaze falling until he was staring down at his clasped hands on the island, and Sam doing his best to watch Bucky without looking like he was watching him. He was honestly not trying to be creepy about it, but he wasn’t entirely certain his concern would go over very well with Bucky. Even after weeks together in this safe house, along with Steve of course, they still didn’t know each other all that well.

Sam sipped at his tea once it was finally done brewing, wondering what kind of conversation starter would work at the moment. Nothing about nightmares, that was for sure. And probably nothing superhero related either, since he had a feeling that wouldn’t mix so well with whatever Bucky’s nightmares were about in the first place. A little too close to home, you know.

What he needed was something a bit more… comforting. Which was a little hard to come by at this time of night and with their lives, but he was sure he’d think of something. Maybe —

“Hey, Bucky, you like gumbo?”

Bucky’s head rose from where he’d been curled over his steaming mug of tea, eyebrows furrowed. “Uh,” he said, sounding more confused than Sam had ever heard. “I don’t know? I don’t think I’ve ever had it.”

For some reason, Sam was really not surprised by that. How often would a 1940s Brooklyn boy who’d been kept as a pet super soldier assassin for 70 years have had a chance to eat gumbo? Probably not often.

“Well,” Sam said, putting down his now empty mug, “that just cannot stand.”

He got up and went over to the pantry, seeing Bucky watching him in bemusement from the corner of his eye. He started setting out ingredients, trying to remember exact quantities. He’d made gumbo with his grandmama a lot as a kid, it had kind of been their thing. But after she died while he was away at college, he hadn’t made it much. A time or two for serious girlfriends, and that was it.

Which made him rethink making this for Bucky, since he hadn’t even realized this was his serious date food before now, but he’d already pretty much said he was making it so he couldn’t exactly back out now. Bucky would never let him live it down if he did.

“My grandmama and I used to make this all the time, ever since I was about five years old and tall enough to reach the counter,” Sam said absently as he chopped vegetables. He was already getting into that comfortable space he had when he cooked one of his grandmama’s recipes. “She got the recipe from _her_ grandmama back in Louisiana. It’s always made me feel really connected to my family, you know?”

He looked over at Bucky, a little embarrassed at having shared something so personal. But Bucky was just looking at him, a tiny smile on his lips. It made Sam feel warm inside, and he turned back to the food, trying to ignore the feeling.

It took enough concentration doing the roux that Sam soon forgot to feel embarrassed about Bucky watching him cook. He got into the swing of things, and soon the gumbo was bubbling away. Now they just had to wait for it to simmer awhile.

“What was that song you were humming?” Bucky asked when Sam finally turned away from the stove.

Sam frowned, grabbing his mug and considering if he wanted to put some more water on for tea. “What?”

“You were humming something while you cooked,” Bucky said. “It sounded… nice.”

He hummed a few bars. Badly, but Sam could tell what it was. He hadn’t even realized he’d been humming, but now that he knew, it wasn’t really surprising. His grandmama and he used to sing while they cooked all the time, and the song he’d been humming was one he’d heard a thousand times before.

_I come to the garden alone,_  
While the dew is still on the roses;  
And the voice I hear, falling on my ear,  
The Son of God discloses. 

Sam trailed off, shaking his head, and moved to pour the now boiling water into their mugs.

“ _In the Garden_ ,” he said after a moment, feeling a pang of sadness as he remembered the last time he’d sung the song. It’d been right before he left for college. “It was my grandmama’s favorite for cooking gumbo. Said it made her feel alive and happy even when things weren’t great outside of the kitchen.”

Bucky nodded, eyes a little hooded. Sam wondered if he was remembering his people who were gone now too. He’d had even less of a chance to say goodbye than Sam had.

“She sounds like she was a hell of a lady.”

Sam smiled over at him. “She really was.”

They drank their tea, silent again, and soon Sam was starting to feel the pull of the chamomile tea. He roused when Bucky cleared his throat. He looked up to see Bucky rolling his mug between his hands, hair fallen to cover most of his face. Little metallic tinks rang through the room whenever his metal fingers hit the mug.

“I was dreaming about when they’d freeze me, after I finished a mission,” he said, voice a little muffled. “I dream about it almost every night.”

Sam hummed a little, not trying to interrupt, just trying to show he was listening. He didn’t want to keep Bucky from sharing, not if he was finally comfortable. He honestly hadn’t thought Bucky would ever say anything since they’d been sitting here for almost two hours already.

“That was always the worst part, because I never knew how long it had been when I woke back up,” Bucky continued. He looked up, and Sam could see his eyes were a little wet. “And by then I could barely remember who I’d hurt. Sometimes couldn’t remember at all. Like they didn’t even matter.”

“Hey.” He reached out on instinct to grab Bucky’s closest hand. It was soft and warm and human in his own, and he was more surprised than anything else that Bucky didn’t pull away. “It wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

Bucky shrugged, but Sam could see it in his face that he didn’t quite believe it. That was ok too. Sam knew from hard experience that sometimes it took awhile to realize that the terrible things that happened in war were just that, terrible things. Internalizing blame didn’t do any good, but it was something that everyone had to work through on their own.

“You ready to eat?” he asked, instead of any of the dozens of other things Bucky was probably expecting him to say. Bucky looked up, startled, and Sam squeezed his hand before getting up and going over to the stove. “It looks like it’s just about done now.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said, sounding a little lost.

Sam made sure to tone down his smile before turning back to the island, two steaming bowls of gumbo in hand. He waited for Bucky to try the first bite, interested to see his reaction. Bucky’s eyebrows went up as soon as the spoon passed his lips, and in seconds he was shoveling heaping spoonfuls into his mouth.

“Guess it’s good then,” Sam said with a laugh. He started in on his own bowl, sighing a little at the nostalgia of it. It was good gumbo, he had to admit. His grandmama had taught him well.

They ate in silence, but somehow there was a new dimension to it that hadn’t been there before. Sam thought it must be that they’d both shared so much of themselves. Things neither of them had told anyone else before, at least not in a very long time. It was those kinds of experiences and sharing that really drew people together.

By the time he was scraping the last bits of sauce from his bowl, Sam could feel exhaustion pulling at his mind. He glanced at the clock, noticing that it was after five now, and almost laughed. No wonder he was so tired.

He looked across the island and saw that Bucky looked even more tired, the bags under his eyes stark. His nightmares must have really worn him out, even before they sat out in the kitchen for hours. The thought made Sam want to wrap him up in a pile of blankets, but he didn’t think they were quite at that point in their relationship, despite their heart to heart.

“You gonna head back to bed or just give it up for the beginning of the day?” Sam asked, taking both of their bowls and putting them in the sink, then putting a lid on the leftover gumbo. He knew he was planning to try to catch some more sleep, so all of that could be dealt with later.

Bucky looked startled as he looked over at the clock. He looked soft, almost innocent, in his perplexity at the time. “Bed, I guess?”

“Good choice, man.”

Sam paused a moment on his way out of the kitchen, weighing his options, then decided to go for it. The worst that could happen was getting smacked around by the Winter Soldier, and he’d already been there done that.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek before quickly backing away, smiling. “Night,” he said, heading for his room.

“Goodnight,” Bucky replied, just a few beats behind. He sounded surprised, but thankfully not displeased. Sam took that as a win.

**Author's Note:**

> Song referenced is _In the Garden_ / _I Come to the Garden Alone_ , originally by C. Austin Miles and since recorded by a metric shit ton of ppl. Including Elvis Presley, who I like to imagine did the version Sam's grandmama liked :D


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